


No Me Without You

by KassandraScarlett



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst and Feels, Codependent Winchesters (Supernatural), Episode: s15e20 Carry On, Eventual Happy Ending, Gen, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Role Reversal, Sam Winchester Dies, Selectively Mute Dean Winchester, Shippy Gen, Suicidal Dean Winchester, Suicide, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:42:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29926014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KassandraScarlett/pseuds/KassandraScarlett
Summary: Sam dies. Dean does not deal.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 10
Kudos: 101





	No Me Without You

**Author's Note:**

> Stage-It:  
> Q: What would have happened if Sam was in Dean's place?  
> JA: The loss of his brother would have been the beginning of the end of (Dean). I think he probably would have just wasted away in the back of a pool hall.

Sam ~~(his body)~~ was heavier than Dean remembered from the millions of instances when he'd carried or supported him. Maybe because this was it. This was final. Total. Absolute.

No. No, there had to be a way. Whatever Sam had stammered out about being at peace or natural order, there had to be a way. Dean would find a way.

He couldn't bear to put his brother in the trunk, arranging him in the backseat instead, covering his punctured torso with Dean's jacket.

"Don't look back," he told the two scared kids, bundling them into the front seat ~~(passenger side- shotgun- Sam's seat)~~ with blood-stained hands and a barely audible voice.

But he couldn't stop himself from sneaking peeks in the rearview, heart jumping every time he looked at Sam's face, like he was just sleeping, like any minute he would wake up and start bitching at Dean about not waking him up for a turn at the wheel.

Except for how he didn't.

* * *

Crossroads were surprisingly abundant and abandoned. Sam's body was still in the backseat, _rigor mortis_ starting to set in after six hours, and Dean had neither retrieved his jacket or washed his hands of the blood. The afternoon sun burned down on his back as he buried the box under the dirt and then stood, waiting, hoping. 

"Hello, Dean." It wasn't a random meat suit.

"Rowena," Dean greeted, voice thick and desperate. "You- Sam is- help me."

The Queen of Hell glanced at the car and pain flashed through her stony features. "I'm sorry, Dean, but-"

"No, no, don't, just bring him back," Dean cut in. "Bring him back or I'll give you reason to be really sorry."

"You know I can't," she spoke above him. "I told you before, I can't bring back someone whose soul has passed on."

"But... No, he can't have..." Dean felt helpless, looking between her and the Impala.

"Do you want me to help, Dean?" Rowena asked, uncharacteristically gentle. "I can create the pyre, light the flames-"

"No!" Dean growled. "No, you just... Go, if you can't help me. Just go."

Rowena stared at him, then turned to the car. "Don't do something foolish, Dean," she warned, waving a hand. Purple flashed in the air. "Samuel is at peace- in Heaven, since he's not in Hell. Let him be."

"What did you just do?" Dean snarled, ignoring her words. "Rowena, what did you just-"

She disappeared.

Dean jogged to the car, half-afraid that Sam would be gone, vanished into thin air, or dragged somewhere. But no. He was right there, right where Dean had left him and...

Dean choked back a sob. Rowena had cleaned Sam up. The dried blood was gone, the tear in the shirt fixed. His face was clear of grime or sweat, hair falling softly around behind his ears. And when Dean put a hand to his sternum, he couldn't feel the wound.

But he was still cold and there was no heart beat.

* * *

"Jack, please," he begged three nights later ~~(three nights of endless phone calls, spell work, calling in favours, threatening other witches and warlocks and whatnot)~~. "Please, please, bring him back. It's, it's Sam, he did so much for you, he loved you so goddamn much, and you'd be someone completely different if it wasn't for him, Jack, you know this, please, please-"

Begging, screaming, raging- Sam lay untouched, frozen in time by Rowena's spell, and Dean never got an answer. _Hands off,_ Jack had promised, but if he couldn't even make an exception for _Sam_... Well. Dean had never put much stock in higher powers.

* * *

On the sixth morning after the barn ~~(the night Sam died)~~ , Dean wrapped him up in cloth, exhausted and out of tears, hands surprisingly steady as he pressed a wishful kiss to Sam's forehead.

"Come back," he pleaded one last time, whispering the words into Sam's cold skin like they might breathe life back into him. "Come back to me, Sammy."

His eyes stung from the smoke of the flames, Miracle whimpered mournfully at his feet, and those were the last words he spoke for a very long time.

* * *

He broke into the whiskey, drank until he didn't know anything any more.

When he woke up, there was a lamp smashed on the floor, his palm was bleeding, and his stomach felt like it wanted to cuss him out. Miracle was hiding under the map table, fur quivering as she stared up at him.

Dean had no memory of what he'd done, though the evidence made it obvious. But Miracle was scared of him and he heaved a dry sob, hand reaching out in apology as he crawled closer to her on all fours. She was quick to forgive, nuzzling into his chest with a reprimanding bark.

At some point, he fed her, gave her water, took her out for a walk. But the smell of his own food made him feel sick all over again, because breakfast had been Sam's duty and he... He wasn't...He couldn't...

* * *

His phone died just as he caught sight of the dozens of texts and missed calls. From Jody, Donna, Garth. It took him a second to realise why.

Sam's birthday was coming up. They wanted to make plans.

He charged up his phone and then sent them a text, just two simple words to sum it up. ~~(Sam's gone)~~. Then he switched it off and tried to sleep.

* * *

Jody was the first one there, barging into the bunker, eyes blazing with worry as she yelled his name, then wet with grief when she found him in the kitchen, staring blankly at the monochromatic setting. She hugged him and he hugged her back, taking comfort as it came.

"Come with me," she told him. "Dean, you can't be staying here all alone, you'll-" She cut herself off, because there was no gentle way to say that she didn't trust him not to do something stupid

Dean understood. He patted her hand, kissed her temple, and shook his head.

Jody's lips thinned at the silence. "At least take care of yourself," she begged.

He nodded without hesitation, not even bothering to cross his fingers.

After she left, he tried to eat the meal she'd made and packed for him.

_Tried_ was the operative word.

* * *

Time passed in a blur, flashes of cognisance cutting through periods where he got blackout drunk or passed out from exhaustion, due to lack of food and sleep.

* * *

He ended up in a bar at some point. When he stumbled back out, he had a bruised jaw and blood trickling down his forehead. But hey- at least alcohol numbed the pain, right?

_This has got to stop_ , a voice in his head said. 

Dean took a sharp breath, because he knew that voice. He stumbled into the car and, sure enough, Sammy was sitting shotgun.

_No, Dean, you're_ _hallucinating._ Sammy sounded so angry.

Dean reached out, wanting to touch. But of course, his hand never connected.

Sammy's face turned sad. _Please, stop,_ he begged. 

Dean tuned him out, just leaned back against the seat and stared at the illusion until his eyes could no longer stay open.

* * *

The bunker had been their home. Now, it was Dean's tomb and Sam's room was a shrine he hadn't stepped foot in yet. 

He wandered the halls like a ghost, ignoring the ringing of the extra phones, only occasionally replying to texts, if only to ensure that no one would come to check on him. Dean understood their concern, but it was distant, unattached. He didn't want company. Miracle and Sam's memories were enough. 

One day, he finally dared to step into Sam's room. 

Big mistake. 

The neatly folded bedsheets and the research papers left on the desk made tears spring to his eyes, though he'd been sure he'd cried himself to dehydration a while ago. 

He stumbled away from the sight of Sam's messy scrawl, collapsing on to the bed. He was so tired- always was, these days- and the pillows smelled like fucking vanilla shampoo, practically saturated with the scent after having remained locked away for so long, and Dean-

Dean was weak, so he fell back on one of the pillows, hugged another one close and tucked it under his chin, and fell asleep with Miracle settled warmly atop his feet and the vanilla scent filling his senses. 

It was the best sleep he'd had in a while.

He woke up feeling rested, almost good, vague flashes of his dream fading behind his eyelids. 

"Sammy?" He called out, because that was Sam's shampoo he could smell, so they'd probably fallen asleep on the same bed after binge watching something on Netflix... 

The unfamiliar rasp of his voice, cracked and broken after months of disuse, startled him to full wakefulness. 

He blinked his eyes open, sitting up, and reality crashed back in.

* * *

After that, he spent a lot of time in Sam's room. Eventually, he started snooping. 

One day, he found Sam's old Stanford hoodie. It was faded, the logo cracked, a mustiness to it. Dean kept it aside, then put it on. It was way too long on him, but it kept him warm. ~~(The bunker always felt too cold these days)~~.

* * *

On a winter morning, Dean woke up and couldn't quite recall the exact curve of Sam's smile, or the exact placement of his dimples, or the pattern of his moles that Dean had memorized even before his teenage years. 

He panicked, a harsh, raw sound of distress escaping his throat painfully, startling Miracle, who always followed him around these days, like she was afraid of the same thing Jody had been. 

He brought out the photographs he kept safe in a diary, spread them out on the table and studied them, stared at then until they were burned into his eyes- Sam with a hand on his chest as he laughed about something, Sam tipsy at Bobby's place and grinning up at the camera, Sam relaxed into Dean's side with an arn slung around him. 

And in all of them, next to Sam, was another man that had become a stranger to Dean- a man who looked at his brother like he was all that mattered, a man who still _had_ his brother. 

Dean envied that man. What he wouldn't give to be in his place...

* * *

He found Sam's box, the little collection of keepsakes that Dean had never had the heart to tease him for. 

He hesitated to open it, then did it anyway and-

An engagement ring. A brochure for a retirement home. A torn piece of cloth. A tiny green army man. A butterfly knife. A postcard. And-

Two amulets. One wooden, one brass. One a prop, one an old symbol of Dean's faith in his brother. The _only_ thing Dean had ever had faith in when everything else was lost. 

Dean gripped the amulet, the real one, and curled his fist around it. The sharp edges dug into his palm, almost cutting through, but the pain cleared his mind. 

Dean relaxed, slowly breathing out. It was time to go. 

* * *

He texted Jody: _Please come over tomorrow._ Her reply was almost instantaneous: _Of course._

Miracle whined and gave low howls as he prepared a bowl of food for her. He ignored the little pang of guilt as he hugged her goodbye, then firmly gestured for her to stay put. Jody would take care of her, he assured silently. 

At the door, he paused once, looking back down at the bunker, remembering when he ~~(and Sam)~~ had entered for the very first time. 

Then, with Sam's Stanford hoodie slung over his arm, the amulet around his neck, and car keys in hand, he left without a second look back.

* * *

**A Week Later:**

"Donna, they found him."

" _Where? Where is he?_ "

"Donna..."

" _Jody?_ "

"He was in his car, at the wheel."

" _... And?_ "

"The car was dragged out of a lake this morning."

" _Was it an accident?_ "

"You know it wasn't."

* * *

Dean opened his eyes to bright sunshine and a familiar smile. 

"Dean," Sam greeted softly. 

Dean leapt at him. "I'm sorry," he choked out, winding his arms tight around Sam's neck. "I couldn't do it, Sam, I tried, I swear-"

"Shh, it's okay, it's alright," Sam soothed, holding him close. "I'm just glad you're here, Dean. Just glad you're finally here."

Maybe this was Heaven. Maybe it was a dream. Maybe an illusion. 

It didn't matter. Nothing mattered, except Sam's steady hands and fond gaze and the sound of Dean's name on his lips. 

**Author's Note:**

> My Tumblr: kassyscarlett


End file.
